Tuesday, August 29, 2017

The sword is a product of
the wonderful harmony of shape and proportion ergonomically refined by
generations of violent trial and error. It represents an achievement of forging
deadly utility of form from earnest function. It expresses mastery of the
mysteries of hand-working nature’s iron into man’s steel. As an instrument it
evokes both a challenge to rediscover it's artistry of creation and recover its
artistry of application.

After handling literally hundreds of antique specimens of
real historical swords and hundreds of replicas of all quality and accuracy and
training in the authentic source teachings for almost four decades now, I take
a particular view towards appreciating the subtle geometry of fighting blades.
The qualities that make them handle and perform, inflict impacts with edge and
penetrate with point, as well as ward off or deflect forceful blows is what
it's all about for me.

In particular, the swords of Western Europe from ancient
times through the Medieval and Renaissance eras reflect a certain awareness of
Euclidean geometry. Just how much of the proportion and dimensions of their
design is a deliberate matter of a craftsman’s intention and how much may be a
matter of subjective pattern recognition on our part today is the question.

It's possible to look at a sword and make judgements about its proportions and
infer relationships between them that may or may not really be there. It's
possible to take near infinite measurements of a sword's shape and
cross-section to then imagine we can deduce the conscious intentions of its
maker. But whatever or not was known about geometry by a historical swordsmith
and how it might then have been applied to any single specimen or model, the
end goal was to make a durable and effective fighting weapon. A blade was only
deemed of value if it could reliably serve its user in combat.

It's easy enough
to make a replica copy of a historical sword by looking at a side profile of
its blade and then matching its hilt components. But to do it right the hilt of
the original should be detached to look at the tang and the blade itself should
be turned in every dimension, especially edge on, so that its three-dimensional
cross-sectional differential can be closely replicated. This full profile
—intended to meet a specific function— is what a good bladesmith achieved with
his knowledge and skill. Along with overall shape and length, the variety of
fullers, shallows, spines, and risers that were historically used in blade
profiles is absolutely enormous. Any such profile will differ from blade to
blade over the centuries and even within the same historical period. Many
achieve the very same results through distinctively different compositions. But
whatever a blade’s profile, it ultimately had to be fitted with a handle and
grip as well as some kind of guard configuration that together optimized its
manner of use in combat. An awareness of this was surely factored into the
blade’s design itself. It's not difficult to see how this choice would have
reflected some notion of a harmonious geometric relationship to the finished
piece. It's impossible to say if doing so was a matter of aesthetics,
practicality, or a little of both.

We may notice geometric elements in some
Medieval and Renaissance swords and wonder to what degree they may have been by
conscious design according to some philosophical assumption or else merely
serendipitous of the kinesthetic elements of tool use. Perhaps the most
important thing about the geometry of swords is the most obvious yet most
easily overlooked: design is a direct factor of their ability to inflict wounds
and defend against them. Having tested, experimented on, trained with, broken,
and explored the use of all manner of ethnographic sword forms for many years
—cutting, thrusting, slicing, and warding with them— I can attest with
certainty to this fundamental truth. …But what of it? All I can say is that,
when it comes to swords there is more than one way to achieve an effective
fighting blade.